Friend
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: For Cameryn.My second drabble with Liebgott and Webster. No Slash. Please Read and Review, thanks.


A/N: My second "drabble" about Webster and Liebgott. I like this a bit better than the first one. Please Read and Review. Thank you.

No Slash.

* * *

Friend

_For Camreyn_

"You speak German as well as I do." The words rang in Webster's mind. It was true. He spoke it like Liebgott, even if his voice slurred words into even waves that made it sound like something other than German. When Liebgott spoke it, it sounded like German – short and clean and rough. Webster made it sound elegant and drunk. And when he thought about it, Webster realized that Liebgott always sounded German to him now, the cold kind of German. He resented Webster for never coming to Bastogne. The Harvard student almost wished he had been now.

"I speak German just as well as Liebgott. Do you really need two translators for tonight?" He waited for an answer with a strange hope that he had never known before. He hadn't seen combat in months, and maybe he was afraid somewhere in the middle of his chest. But he waited for Malarkey to send him alone.

"You're right. Tell Liebgott he's off." Malarkey looked older than Winters. He wasn't the same guy Webster had known in basic. His eyes were dimmed. Webster had heard about Muck and Penkala. It hadn't sounded like Buck Compton had been better off either.

"Thanks, buddy." That was the first time Webster had seen Liebgott smile since returning to Easy. He didn't smile back; his lips only twitched for an instant. Liebgott's eyes shone at him with that woman-winning smile, and Webster felt good as he turned around and started heading back to where his things waited on another thin blanket. He didn't feel the walk, and suddenly he was standing at Malarkey's table, his pack open and his hands ghosting over its contents. None of the others were around; he was alone in the quiet, in the light that somehow felt beautiful when it broke through the windowpane in pale silence. He felt someone tracing the jacket wrinkles that shifted over his back like the tide, and he turned around, just those blue eyes peering over his shoulder.

"Why'd you do it?" Liebgott was standing alone with the beds behind him. Webster had never seen him look like that before, not cocky or okay. His voice was new, soft like it had never been before. Maybe it was because they were alone. Webster's eyes searched Liebgott's for a moment, something he had never done in the whole course of the war with any soldier.

"Because you were right." He waited for a second before turning back around and shoving his pack of cigarettes into his bag. When a hand slipped over his shoulder, he turned his head and met those green eyes again. He would have never guessed Liebgott's fingers felt so gentle and thin. His rifle hung from his other shoulder, but it wasn't as heavy anymore.

"Thanks." It was almost a whisper, but maybe it just sounded like that because it was tender. Liebgott was never tender. He was never soft. He was never gentle. He was never quiet when he spoke or looked. Webster wondered if this was the same man he had trained and gone to war with. When Liebgott smiled, he knew it was. And all he could do was nod. The hand left his shoulder, and Liebgott turned away, leaving him to finish with his pack. Webster listened to his boots grow more distant, and when Liebgott turned the corner and disappeared, he stopped again. He hadn't been touched in a long time. The doctors hadn't counted; he had been unconscious half the time anyway. They had only been doing their job. It wasn't like Liebgott. Alone again in his wrinkles and dusty sunlight, Webster decided he had done the right thing. Whatever happened that night on the last patrol, he would be okay. Liebgott's memory would get him through. And as for Liebgott, he would be safe and waiting here, the least Webster could do for a friend.

"A friend." The word crept from his lips because he was alone. Maybe that's what Liebgott was. He had thought that after 3 years with these men, he had failed to make friends out of comrades. But that's what Liebgott must have been. That's why he must have saved him too. Webster smiled. "A friend."


End file.
